


Icy Vodka Punch Remix

by Kissa



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Romance, Blowjobs, DJ Jaskier, First Time, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, MMA fighter Geralt, Multi, Slow Build, Switching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23374753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissa/pseuds/Kissa
Summary: These are not as much fic chapters as they are notes, thoughts and imagined scenes inspired by "The Butcher and the Nymph" modern setting AU by @hardcandyscribblin, who comes up with the best stuff and who generously allowed me to play in her sandbox too.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. Adopting a Pet Disaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HardCandyscribblin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardCandyscribblin/gifts).



It’s eight in the evening and Carmen is ready to go out. Her boyfriend is still on the sofa, napping. He did shower after the gym, but he fell asleep and completely forgot about their date out at the club.    
  
She wakes him, not as gently as she could, and tells him it’s time to go.    
  
“You look amazing,” the fighter says, looking at his girlfriend and going to get ready.    
  
They pull up to the club in a huge black Audi, brand new, courtesy of the brand after the ad Geralt did for them.The ad went viral. Money flowed in for the brand and his manager cashed a fat check on his behalf. Someday, Geralt will see some of that money too. But as a direct thank you for his hand in increasing sales on the electro segment, he got the newest model sent to his door.    
  
Of course Carmen doesn’t like it because it’s an all terrain vehicle, not a roadster, and she doesn’t get to feel like in a Lana del Rey video, which is the worst. For her.    
  
Geralt is happy with the car. He remembers a time, not long ago, when relying on public transport was how he got around.   
  
He gets them drinks and watches as Carmen takes off with both cocktails in her hands, going over to some friends to say hi. Geralt sits on one of the loveseat sofas on the top floor, one door to the right from the DJ booth. It’s a less busy part of the club, where people aren’t constantly rubbing against him while passing by. He got another drink, just a dark beer he can sip through the night while Carmen has her fun.    
  
Clubs aren’t Geralt’s thing - but pleasing Carmen is, so he tags along to make sure she has her fun without anyone getting too handsy or aggressive. Everyone else there is drunk and/or high in various proportions so brawls erupt regularly and drunk guys are even worse at taking a no than sober ones.    


He settles in for a long wait - at least until 3 am.    
  
The music is not bad at all, he notices as he absentmindedly scrolls on his phone, looking at already read messages. He vaguely remembers Carmen wanted to come to the club tonight because a big DJ is hosting.   
  
Geralt is not up to date with the world of music. He is trying to find ways to make money that don’t involve him getting kicked in the head because mixed martial arts might be spectacular and bring in good money, but that’s not a long-lived career. And he doesn’t want Parkinson’s and osteoporosis at 45.    
  
The door opens and a tall, skinny man slips in, heading straight for the small table in front of the sofa. Instead of sitting down, he kneels in front of the table and spills a few items onto the shiny surface.    
  
Geralt looks at the man from his dark corner. He looks young and his hands are shaking as he spills the entire contents of a bag onto the table and reaches into his pocket for a card.    
  
“Don’t do that.” Geralt says, leaning forward and closer to the younger man. “You’ll overdose. Do you want to die at this filthy club?” 

His words at least startle the other man, who falls back onto his butt and looks at him.    
  
“Who the hell are you and what’s it to you if I die?”   
  
“No one and nothing. But you won’t like how it plays out if the OD fails to kill you right away. It’s a long agony.”   
  
The other man sighs and looks at the small cocaine hill he spilled on the table.    
  
“You’re probably right. I don’t want to die, I just want to feel like I live again.”    
  
Geralt nods and offers a growl of understanding.    
  
“Name?” he asks.    
  
“I’m Ju- er, Jaskier, number one ranking trance DJ in the world. You?”   
  
“Geralt.”   
  
“Well Geralt, since you hijacked my plans for the night, how about you buy me a drink and listen to me rant about it?”   
  
“I’ve said yes to worse deals. Name your poison.” Geralt says and gets up, sweeping the cocaine with his bare hand into his half empty beer glass. “Don’t go anywhere.”    
  
He returns with a new beer glass and Jaskier’s requested Sprite with a rosemary twig. 

Jaskier turns out to be nice, because he talks a lot and has the decency to be entertaining. Geralt doesn’t have to participate further than the occasional “uh-huh”, “hmm” and “fuuuck”.


	2. To the Victor Go No Spoils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is broke in this AU too... until he crosses paths with Jaskier and better business decisions.

Geralt has been dealing with several problems at once and they just won’t go away. At times, he feels like giving up and filing for benefits from the state.    
  
Fighting in the professional MMA circuit should bring him enough money for him to live comfortably. But big paychecks are few and far between, and the regular rewards for winning the fights go on paying taxes and fees needed to be allowed to keep fighting.    
  
He feels as though the hits he takes and the dangers he exposes himself to every time he steps into the ring should earn him at least the ability to live stress-free. This is not a career he can retire comfortably from - at worst, he will die from injuries sustained in the ring. Best case scenario, he walks with bad joints, osteoporosis or Parkinson’s.    
  
His manager is more interested in forging connections for herself and cares too little for Geralt’s wellbeing or for how fairly he is paid. He is the poorest long streak winning champion he knows and all the perks he got are things he hustled for himself.    
  
It all changes the day of his match against the White Flame. It is easily THE fight of the decade in the MMA scene.    
  
White Flame has a huge PR and marketing machine behind him, endorsements, deals and contracts out the wazoo, an entourage, a security detail that needs four Humvees to fit in - while Geralt shows up with a towel, his robe, a water bottle and a small vial of rosemary extract.   
  
Before the fight, he takes a few minutes to be alone and to center himself in his locker.    
  
His peace is interrupted by the sounds of boots and high heels approaching.    
  
“Geralt! We came to give you a hug before the fight and wish you a swift and easy win.” Jaskier says, hugging Geralt before the fighter can decide if he is ready for it or not.    
  
“This is my manager, Alizee.” Jaskier introduces a tall, androgynous woman with white hair and extensive eye make-up in dark tones. She has an offwhite pantsuit on and Geralt feels the clench of arousal deep in his lower belly.    
  
Jaskier is looking like his usual lavish self - the latest Jeremy Scott winged shoes, Gucci tracksuit trousers, a distressed tank top and a LOT of gold chains and rings. 

  
“Are you sure you’re good like this? I can braid your hair so it’s not in your eyes.” Jaskier offers and Geralt sees Alizee shoot him a death glare.    
  
“Leave the man to prepare for his fight. Let’s find our seats.” She says. “Now.”    
  
Jaskier listens and lets his manager herd him away from his new-found pet project.    
  
The fight is the hardest Geralt has had yet.    
White Flame is a massive Russian who has mass and reach on his side. The only thing Geralt has on his side physically is speed. And even that lasts only for so long if the Russian goes tactical and exhausts his opponent.    
  
White Flame also punches without mercy and Geralt feels the full force of the man a few times. It almost sends him to the floor for good. Those hits will definitely leave lesions on his brain.    
  
But one look in the VIP booth, where Alizee and Jaskier are, gives him new energy. Carmen is also there, but she’s on her phone, not paying attention to the fight. Alizee is watching, riveted, while Jaskier is chewing his lip and drawing blood in the process.    
  
Geralt decides he is done with the foreplay and gets up. For the next rounds, he is untouchable.    
He recovers his lost points and then begins a multi-level assault on the Russian’s defenses.    
  
When the fight ends, with Geralt as the winner, the crowd is delirious. The whole arena is filled with a surging energy that threatens to send shockwaves through the outer world. People are floored and in disbelief. Almost everyone there placed their bets against Geralt. And lost.    
  
The Blaviken Arena is chanting his name, Geralt notices, although things are a bit blurry now, and blood from an open concussion on his temple is getting in his eyes along with sweat.    
  
White Flame is a fair play guy and shakes Geralt’s hand, hugging him too. He knows he lost on the fight strategy front and he can respect his smaller opponent’s resourcefulness.    
  
Alizee is still watching with interest, an eyebrow now cocked up.    
  
Hours later, at home, under the shower Geralt still can’t believe he won.    
  
He emerges from under the spray to ask Carmen what she wants for dinner and sees her packing her bags.    
  
She leaves him that night. The reasons? He doesn’t care about her, is cold, doesn’t like going to clubs and doesn’t use his fame to help her gain some as well. And he apparently lacks ambition. According to her life plans, she should have been married and with two kids by now, something he was in no hurry to provide.    
  
Geralt lets her go without fighting it. Every single one of his relationships ends for one or both of these two reasons: children and money. The two things he cannot have.    
  
Carmen knows very well that his genetic anomaly (the same one which gave him unnaturally pale skin, white hair and his yellow eyes) made him sterile and if she had more than one brain cell, she would understand that means he cannot get her pregnant, regardless of his intentions or her wishes. As for the money, he admits it, he does not know how to make it happen. He is good at fighting, but not at haggling over contracts and perks.    
  
His evening ends better than expected, with a Guinness in his hand as he watches TV and sees the press have already come up with a catchy name for him - “the Butcher of Blaviken”. He hates it on the spot. It’s not the most flattering thing to call a victor.   



	3. Teddybear Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt runs into Jaskier in the wild.

Geralt is running through a big park close to his home when he catches some irregular motion from the corner of his eye.    
  
He turns to look and stops to make some sense of what he is seeing.    
  
A tall and lean young man, in a grass-stained unicorn onesie, wandering across the green, somehow managing not to step in any of the dogshit that’s lying around.    
  
It’s Jaskier, Geralt notices, and he’s crying. Not the reserved tears adults shed, but rivers and sobs. He has an old and used teddy bear in one hand and a pen in the other. He is not wearing any shoes and only has one sock on.   
  
Geralt can see that every inch of skin peeping from under the onesie has been scribbled with lyrics and random words, and when he gets close, he notices Jaskier smells terrible.    
  
Like he hasn’t showered in days.    
  
From this much closer, he sees dried up tear trails on the younger man’s cheeks and salt in the outer corners of his eyes.    
  
Geralt likes his peace. But against his better judgment, he decides to not leave Jaskier there, because the next person who takes an interest in him might not have kind intentions. Jaskier IS a celebrity after all and he is obviously not very well off mentally, and very easy to take advantage of right now.    
  
So Geralt makes his voice sound as gentle as he can, stepping in Jaskier’s field of vision and speaking.   
  
“Hi, Jaskier. It’s Geralt. Are you alright? What happened?”    
  
Jaskier first shakes his head, then looks around and shrugs. A small sigh leaves his chest and he looks down.    
  
“Are you lost?”    
  
Another head shake.    
  
“Let’s take you home, it’s going to rain tonight and you shouldn’t be on the streets.” Geralt says and abandons his run in favour of taking Jaskier to his gym, where the DJ can borrow some clothes from Geralt’s locker and take a shower while the fighter calls Alizee to let her know she is missing one DJ from her talent team.    
  
Alizee picks up at once.    
  
“Jaskier?! You found him? Thank all the gods. I’m coming to get him.”    
  
Geralt tells her where the gym is and gets off the phone, realising the water has been running since they arrived and Jaskier should be cooked through by now if he stood under the spray all this time.    
  
When he enters the bathroom, it’s filled with steam and it takes a minute before Geralt can spot Jaskier in a corner, on the floor, his onesie soaking wet. But at least he took off his sock.    
  
Geralt is scared to see the DJ in this state and worries what it might be.    
  
But talking softly to Jaskier helps, and he manages to coax him to give him the onesie and his other clothes, and to put a sponge with shower gel in his hand instead.    
  
Jaskier is humming a song to himself, right under his breath, and Geralt cannot make out the lyrics. But it’s about running and being chased by the darkness.    
  
He leaves Jaskier to shower on his own, then he goes to the front to open the door for Alizee.    
  
She stops to look him over.    
  
Geralt is still wearing his running gear - trainers, short shorts and a muscle tank, now with the front all wet and clinging to his ripped contours after standing under the shower with Jaskier.    
  
The DJ emerges, silent, crestfallen and smelling significantly better. He looks TINY in Geralt’s tracksuit.  Alizee takes his hand as soon as he gets close to her.    
  
“Poor baby. Did the song make you sad?” She asks and caresses the damp locks on the top of his head.    
  
Jaskier nods.    
  
“Well let’s get you back home and I’ll call the doctor to give you something so you can rest properly,” Alizee says, guiding him out the door, but not before slipping Geralt her business card.    
  
“Bye Geralt,” Jaskier says faintly before sitting in the back of Alizee’s car.    
  
Later, she texts Geralt while he is cooking dinner.    
  
“Hi Geralt. Thank you for helping Jaskier earlier today. He decided to start on his new album and then he got drunk, fell asleep and had a dream that affected him a lot so he’s been like this… usually he doesn’t wander off, just disappears in his house for a week and comes back out with a finished sample list for a new album. Thank you for not telling anyone… oh and we should meet. I need to talk shop with you.”


	4. Talking shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt will hear what Alizee has to say whether he likes it or not.

Geralt doesn’t intend to take Alizee up on her offer to “talk shop”. He’s a loyal guy and he feels it would not bode well for him to be seen talking with another influential manager. He is already under contract.    
  
But Alizee takes matters into her own hands and one day she shows up at Geralt’s place. 

She finds Geralt cooking, prepping his meals for the coming week and taking it easy, clearly coming down from a workout, if his freshly showered body, wet hair and clean robe are any indication.    
  
He opens, not knowing who it might be, thinking it must be a neighbour or the postman.   
  
Alizee barges in, like she owns the place or is looking to make it so.    
  
She turns and looks at Geralt, who is in slippers and the robe, but still somehow affecting her deeply.    
  
He says nothing, just opens a mineral water bottle and hands it to her.    
  
“Have you ever heard of asking for permission or do you always take what you want?” He asks after a long silence.    
  
“I’m trying to right a wrong here, Geralt. Besides, don’t you know? My dad is a billionaire and he left half his assets to me. I am indeed used to getting what I want.” Alizee says, sitting in the middle of Geralt’s sofa. “Your place is very… Spartan.”    
  
“It’s all I need.”    
  
“Are you happy with our income and benefits?” She cuts right to the chase.    
  
“I am unhappy with this conversation. As a manager, you must know I am already signed to someone.”    
  
Alizee reaches into her chest pocket and takes out a printed and folded spreadsheet.    
  
“These are your earnings for the last season. Gross and net. And on column D you see what your management gets. Column E is what you were left with.”    
  
“But managing for mixed martial arts is extremely hard and full of risks.”    
  
“The White Flame is managed by a man who is literally the boss of an organised crime ring and White Flame gets paid better and has more benefits. Geralt, you can’t fight forever. There’s a reason most fighters retire before forty. What’s your plan after that?”    
  
“To keep on until one day I get knocked out and don’t get up again.”    
  
Alizee huffs, obviously exasperated.    
  
“Let me ask another way. What would you do if you were not a fighter - best case scenario?”    
  
Geralt doesn’t even have to think to answer. That mental image is never far from his conscious focus.   
  
“Have a small house somewhere, wake up early to bake bread and take my dog for a run, tend to flowers, grow vegetables, sell stuff on Etsy.”   
  
“And do you think that’s doable if you have Parkinson’s? Or if you’re dead at 40?”   
  
Geralt pauses.    
  
“What do you suggest I do? I did sign a contract and my manager and I are friends.”    
  
“Friends don’t let friends live in a studio apartment while they sprawl in a seven milli villa.”   
  
“I don’t need much to get by. The less stuff you have, the fewer problems it generates.”   
  
“It’s not about the stuff, Geralt. It’s about freedom. If I wanted to offer you an ad deal. Show up, put clothes on, get filmed punching a boxing bag and bam, paycheck at the end? I couldn’t do it. I’d come to you with a million dollar contract, your manager would cash in and you’d get peanuts, if anything.”    
  
Geralt sighs and sits next to her.    
  
“I can’t do it. I can’t betray her.”    
  
“She’s betraying you on every turn.”   
  
“I can take it. I’ve had much much worse.”    
  
“Tell me.”   
  
“My mother was fifteen when she had me. She wanted to abort me, but her parents forced her to give birth. I was born with genetic anomalies. A monster. At the adoption agency she was told no one wanted a monster baby. I wouldn’t give good pictures. Her parents sold me to an underground institution that trained me. Which is how I got all the scars you see on me. Well, all but one. Carmen gave me this one. Threw a cleaver at me in a fit of rage. One day, I came back from an errand to find everyone at my school dead. I was alone again, had no one, and I had two options - walking the streets or illegal cage fights. I got picked up by the cops, sent to a correctional facility. More beatings, now with weird drugs as well. I think they tested new shit on me too. On the day I was supposed to be released, again with no place in the world, my manager showed up and gave me a place on her team. A purpose. Now do you get it?”    
  
“All I get is that she just knows how to exploit you without raising her hand on you, Geralt. The world is not just abuse and women like Carmen.”    
  
“What would you do with me?”    
  
“Ads. Fashion. Movies maybe. Big profile jobs with little work time and big pay. Make you do high profile charity work. Teaching kids from hard backgrounds like you martial arts so they can have a shot at a career and a good life.”   
  
“That’s nice. That leaves the contract.” 

  
“Leave that to me and my lawyers. In the meantime, speak to no one. No one until I say you can, do you hear me? Not even Jaskier.”    
  
“By the way. Is he alright? He left his teddy here. I gave it a bath for him.”    
  
Alizee takes the plush toy and stares at it, then at Geralt.    
  
“He’ll be happy to have his old friend back.” She says, still watching the fighter.    
  
Geralt thinks the look in her eyes has changed now, it is much softer.    
  
“Why swoop in and get me? For your collection, like an insect?”   
  
“Mmm, you’ve looked up my portfolio. Good man. I like who I like. And pretty boys are easy to market. Everyone wants them despite their better judgment.” She answers, apparently and unashamedly basking in his closeness and good looks.    
  
Geralt snorts with laughter.    
  
“You think I’m pretty?”    
  
“Absolutely. Your face might not be much to you because you see it every day… but I look at it and see money, fame, fantasies, adoration… and behind it, a good and fair man with a tender heart who needs a bitch like me to keep the vultures away. So, what do you say about my proposition?”    
  
“Hmm.”    



	5. Clearing the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Alizee discuss the tension coursing between them.

Geralt found out he was free of his contract in the most annoying, passive aggressive way.    
  
First, he was notified he was being kicked out of the MMA federation for not paying his membership.    
  


Second, his gym subscription was cancelled.    
  
Third, he got an eviction notice.   
  
But he did not have the time to worry about where he would live and train, because Alizee showed up at his place and helped him move his few belongings into her place.    
  
Her house was massive and had elevators and bridges between the various wings of the building. Geralt got a beautiful apartment in the guest wing, where he would be surrounded by luxury in every detail.   
  
“Jaskier said to say hi from him and thank you for the teddy.” Alizee relayed the message to Geralt as they met in the courtyard.    
  
“Hmmm,” comes Geralt’s reply, accompanied by a shrug. “I hope he’s alright. He was in bad shape last time I saw him.”    
  
“He was just writing his new album and got too deep in his feelings. Some lyrics brought back some memories and well. I don’t hold it against him, artists tend to be more fragile, at least some of them. But I worry for him because he forgets he has a body sometimes and he goes without eating or drinking or resting.”   
  
“You’re not his mum.”    
  
“I’m his manager. And friend. I owe it to him to keep him out of trouble when he can’t do it for himself.”   
  
  
***   
  
Geralt doesn’t make himself at home in Alizee’s massive home. He lives like a soldier ready to move at a moment’s notice. Something about the sudden luxury doesn’t feel real to him and he sleeps well, but little, worry gnawing at him in the back of his mind.    
  
He does notice this powerful, determined and attractive woman tremble around him. Whenever they are in the same room and somehow close to each other, it’s like the temperature in the room goes up a few good degrees and there’s electricity in the air.    
  
It even happens during professional meetings, when other people are around too, they’ll be at Alizee’s downtown offices, discussing Geralt’s next career moves, and she’ll be surrounded by lawyers and assistants. Geralt still feels her sweat under her designer power suit and sees the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it tremble in her gestures. She works extra hard to pretend she is in control.    
  
Well that has to be addressed.    
  
It’s on a Sunday, when the staff are not there and there’s no one around. Geralt just finished working out in the in-home gym and he’s wearing only his workout shorts and trainers when he sees Alizee crossing the hallway on the opposite side of the U-shaped hallway. Geralt runs and catches up to her.    
  
“Alizee, we need to talk.” He says.    
  
She turns to look at him and blood rushes to her cheeks. There it is again. Her whole physiology reacts to him, and strongly at that.    
  
“Follow me,” she says, and walks into her bedroom, which is massive and immediately recognizable as hers. Neon lights and accents and a lot of black and white, a pristine white faux fur carpet in front of her desk… which Geralt is not surprised by. Of course she would have a desk in her bedroom. The bed is however on the upper level, at the end of a set of stairs.    
  
The window opposite the desk is huge and offers the view of the whole city.    
  
Only now does Geralt notice Alizee is wearing her short bathrobe and probably nothing else. She smells like she just got out of a bath, warm and fragrant. Geralt loves it. Most women smell good to him, but she in particular has a scent to her that he loves.    
  
“Yes?” She asks, sitting on the window sill, facing towards the room and Geralt.    
  
Geralt makes himself small. He sits cross-legged on the carpet and looks at her. From his angle, her legs look all the longer and muscular. She is built like a gazelle, he catches himself thinking. And he cannot help but notice.   
  
“Are you afraid of me? You don’t have to be. You practically own me, after you bought me from my ex-manager.”   
  
Alizee smiles.    
  
“Afraid? No, I’m not afraid of you, Geralt. Why would I be? Is this the default reaction other people have? Because of your genetic anomalies? Is that why you think I’m scared?”    
  
Geralt nods.    
  
“Oh, Geralt,” Alizee says, the smile still fluttering on her lips. “You know nothing. But you will learn.”   
  
To Geralt’s surprised look, she responds:    
  
“I’m not afraid of you. I’m super aroused every time you’re around. So much that it gets distracting. But you seem uninterested and I did not want to make you feel like… I expect anything.”    
  
Geralt is still looking surprised.    
  
“You don’t feel attractive, because of how people have treated you thus far. But you are too beautiful to be convincingly human in the eyes of others. People either feel intense desire or envy when they see you. Yours are not monster features. And I fully intend to weaponize that. And make us both a huge amount of money.”   
  
Geralt tilts his head. He can see how she is right and besides, she is the professional in these matters.    
  
“That leaves the unresolved tension, now that you’ve done away with my apprehension.” He points out. “Maybe we should take the edge off. Or rather, I should.”    
  
Alizee gasps.    
  
“I don’t think us sleeping together is a good idea.”   
  
“That’s not what I was suggesting,” Geralt says, smiling briefly and leaning back so that his posture is even more open and unguarded. 

“I do not like trysts. I am ready to live with my burning desire for you, if it means that I can still bear to look you in the eyes. However, if you have some way of going about this that doesn’t involve us fucking…”    
  
Oddly, Geralt feels relieved. This is the moment where anyone else would hop on that dick like it costs money not to be on it. Anyone who knows he’s sterile has no qualms about using him to get off and move on. But Alizee doesn’t want that. The transactional aspect of sex seems to bother her particularly much. 

  
He gets up and moves towards her slowly.    
  
“I trust you, Alizee. And I want to show you you can trust me too.”    
  
She nods, pauses, then agrees.    
  
“Alright. I do want you. But I also want to keep our relationship on its current terms. Let’s not think of each other like unlocked achievements.”    
  
Geralt closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around her waist, slowly and gently pulling her close for a kiss. Her lips are warm and a bit chapped from her biting them constantly, but soon they become supple and inviting.    
  
She kisses back, assuming control of the kiss, her hands coming up to card through white locks.    
  
He unties her robe, but doesn’t take it off, only opening it so she’s fully exposed to him. Geralt’s mouth draws a path from Alizee’s lips down over her jaw, to her neck, collarbones, chest and breasts. He spends long moments paying attention to her nipples, only stopping when they are small, stiff little peaks and Alizee’s pleas become unintelligible.   
  
It is then that Geralt lifts her effortlessly, placing her onto the wide window sill and guiding one of her legs up to his shoulder. The other, he wraps around his hip and supports the thigh with his hand. Two fingers on his free hand part her, slipping into the soaking wet heat he knew was waiting. He’s gentle and slow, taking his time and first only entering her with one finger. The second follows only when he judges her aroused and relaxed enough for it.    
  
This position has the advantage that Geralt can lean forward and kiss her while his fingers move inside her. It’s intimate and satisfying, and Alizee feels like the entire encounter is about her. Which, it is.    
  
Geralt maps her walls and all of her responsive spots, seeing which ones get him the best reactions, before his fingers curl and press directly on a spot that makes Alizee’s mind go blank.    
  
He somehow knows exactly how to move his fingers, at which cadence and with as much pressure as he needs to ignite every single pleasure receptor in her body. Her nerve pathways fire awake and come alive like in a circuit that explodes at the top, drops for a given, comforting length, then sparks anew.    
  
Alizee hasn’t come so much or so hard in her entire life. Her leg muscles are shaking uncontrollably from her toes to her thighs, and so are her abs. Geralt no doubt feels her stretched entrance squeezing and releasing around and her walls clamping down on his fingers.    
  
A change in her moans and in the rhythm of her quivering lets Geralt know she’s become oversensitized and he carefully withdraws his fingers, sucking them clean without much thought.    
  
Alizee slumps in her spot, held up by Geralt’s hard body between her legs.    
  
“I’m afraid I can’t do much for you now.” She says. “That was… beyond.”    
  
Geralt smiles and pecks her lips briefly, guiding her legs back down and tying her robe around her.    
  
“Don’t worry about me. I got what I needed too.”    
  
With those words, he leaves her room, going to continue his post-workout routine.    
  
She is left sat on the window sill, feeling like a newborn colt, still unsure on her legs.    
  
Geralt is the one purchase she made that doesn’t come with downsides, she concludes.    
  



	6. The Coin Drops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt starts to see what's really going on... slowly, but he does.

Things aren’t awkward between them afterwards. Alizee keeps her word and gets Geralt a few small jobs that do end up putting more money in his pockets than before.    
  
Alizee also takes him on a house tour, showing him small houses surrounded by gardens.    
Geralt is asked to give his opinion on the places, and he can only whole-heartedly say which one he likes best. If he had that kind of money, he knows exactly which of those empty houses would become his home.    
  
Alizee buys it on the spot.    
  
“It’s yours, G-man.”    
  
“Are you buying me off?”   
  
“No. But you’re a fresh buy and I want you to consider staying under my management long term. Besides, you are abysmal at receiving. Very, extraordinarily good at giving, but there’s more to life than giving. You need to become comfortable with receiving things - gifts, attention, praise, succes, even love.”   


“Well if it’s a work directive, then alright. Thank you. I will strive to prove myself worthy of your generosity.”    
  
“Please. This is peanuts to me. This however,” Alizee says, reaching up with a finger and tickling the skin right under Geralt’s lower lip, until the man smiles. “This is priceless. You are so glowing when you smile.”   
  
Geralt also blushes at the unreserved compliments. He doesn’t yet know how to handle himself in these situations, but he has a feeling that, under Alizee, he will learn.    
  
To celebrate his new digs, Alizee takes him to the club - after redoing his outfit. She has to teach him that one does not wear their daytime tracksuit to the club. Two phone calls and a crystal water lemonade later, Geralt is being dressed by a professional stylist and Alizee provides the art direction.    
  
Geralt feels like a five year old, standing on a table, barefoot, wearing very tight jeans and a t-shirt the stylist tailored on the go for him. Alizee only lets him come down from there once she is satisfied.    
  
At the club, Jaskier is hosting the party and pretty much everyone who matters is there.    
  
Bored, Geralt sips on his beer, following his new manager’s instructions: sign autographs for the men, take pics with the women and overall be approachable without getting dickfaced and becoming a tabloid topic.    
  
His eyes are drawn to the nest of disco lights that is the DJ booth. Jaskier looks monumental, seen from below, his pale skin lit up by the various colours dancing over him.    
  
The DJ announces a single from his upcoming album and everyone pays attention. If you don’t love Jaskier’s trance tracks, you’re not alive.    
  
The song promises to be the usual club fare… until the voice kicks in and Geralt realises it’s Jaskier singing. Like for real singing and playing some old instruments that he cleverly distorted - something about tossing a coin to the fighter…    
  
That man… that man is devilishly talented, Geralt thinks. The song is infectious and sticks to his mind.    
  
It’s only much later, in bed at home, after a car ride, a shower and dinner, that it occurs to him the “fighter” in the song… is him. 


	7. A Wild Hot Dad Appears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt feels comfortable enough to share a big chunk of his past with his new family.

Life is looking up for Geralt. He has some money now, he can plan for a future after his fighting career, and most importantly, he has the house now, which he plans to fill with his soul and make it a home. Many hours are spent outdoors on the back porch or in the garden, sanding doors and furniture, sawing, screwing hinges and drawers together, unrolling carpets, dusting, hoovering… all things that Geralt insists on doing himself, as a form of highly satisfying meditation. Wu Wei, he tells Alizee, is a concept he picked up while studying Aikido, and it stuck because it made a lot of sense to him.   
  
Jaskier and Alizee are currently occupying two chairs on the deck Geralt built out back, complete with a colourful glass roof and pillars for wisterias to wind their way up on.   
  
They brought lunch and booze, and Geralt is providing the entertainment, as they sit, eating and drinking, watching him work tirelessly around the house in nothing but a pair of blue shorts.   
  
Jaskier insisted on braiding Geralt’s hair away from his face and didn’t let up until he got his way, at the cost of a few grunts from the martial artist. Alizee helped with some pointers and by supplying three elastics for the three resulting thick braids.   
  
Now they are just enjoying watching the beast of a man, dusty from a day’s work and a bit sunburnt on his shoulders, arms and the tops of his pecs, with rivulets of sweat having left darker trails through the white dust covering Geralt’s torso. Luckily he hydrates liberally.   
  
“So Geralt, come sit with us, before Jaskier wolfs down your lunch too.” Alizee calls, and Geralt suddenly remembers he hasn’t eaten yet today, so he does as she says and digs into his lunch.   
  
Conversation is light and friendly, with Jaskier “spilling the latest tea” on his love life and saying he is keeping a low profile because his last fling conveniently forgot to mention being married and now the husband wants to have a reckoning.   
  
Geralt pfffts at the tale.  
  
“Don’t put your penis in married people. And do your own research.” He says.   
  
“Well Saint Geralt, that’s a bit difficult when high off your tits and surrounded by a crowd of willing and adoring fans.” Jaskier defends himself. “Besides, you’d protect me, wouldn’t you?”   
  
Geralt gives the DJ the stink-eye and a disapproving grunt.   
  
“You aren’t supposed to fuck anyone without a signed NDA, _Julian_.” Alizee says sternly.   
  
“I know, _Mother_. Won’t happen again,” Jaskier says, his face looking like _it will totally happen again, and soon._   
  
“What about you, Geralt? No dodgy past whatsoever?” Alizee probes.   
  
“I have a teenage daughter.” Geralt says flatly.  
  
Jaskier spits his Lillet all over the table and chokes.   
  
“You have a kid? A teenager? When did you have her, at 12?!” the DJ asks.  
  
“She’s adopted. My mother’s best friend died and… long story short, I ended up being the only somewhat close person who could take her in. But it was short lived.”   
  
“Where is she now?” Alizee asks, already starting to wonder if this has the potential to be a PR bomb.   
  
“With my ex. My ex got a judge to sign custody of Ciri over to her because back then I had a really nomadic lifestyle and was cage-fighting, not exactly a healthy environment for raising a child, whereas she has a thriving business.”  
  
“Who the hell just steals someone’s child? So what if you were cage-fighting, if the kid loved you?” Jaskier exclaims.   
  
“It was for the better. Ciri got a good education and grew up with a stable parent.”   
  
“Who’s your ex?” Alizee wants to know. Wondering if the ex, who sounds controlling af, will re-emerge to stir shit once she learns of Geralt’s newfound fame.   
  
“Her name is Yennefer.”   
  
“Yennefer… of Vengerberg?! You dated… her? Fuck me, that’s rad!!!” Jaskier exclaims.   
  
Alizee rolls her eyes.   
  
“The queen of monetized bullshit? Wow.”   
  
“I wouldn’t know, when I dated her she was just a life coach starting her business and hustling hard.” Geralt replies.   
  
“Yeah, since then she started a YouTube channel, which then became a website, and now she has product lines with the Vengerberg brand. She’s LOADED. She sells gimmicks and witchy shit. But that still doesn’t explain why she wanted your kid.”   
  
Geralt shrugs.   
  
“She can’t have her own and she really wanted to shape someone’s future the way a parent does with their children. Ciri and her had an instant connection and, well, it all turned out for the best.”  
  
“What are the chances of Yennefer popping up in your life again?” Alizee wants to know.   
  
“Hmmm… low, I’d say. She’s not into relationships that much, which is why she took the kid and bailed. I never know how I stand with her, most of the time. She’s moody and can be malicious when she is not getting her way.”  
  
“I’m calling my law firm… to tell them to prepare for the oncoming storm.” Alizee announces with a sigh.   
  
“How old is Ciri exactly?” Jaskier asks.   
  
“She is turning eighteen on the first of May.” Geralt says.   
  
Jaskier and Alizee exchange a knowing look. Geralt may act all detached, but the fact that he didn’t even pause to remember is telling. He definitely still thinks of his daughter.   
  
And an eighteen year old can choose to resume a relationship with an estranged parent.


	8. A Boyfriend for the Brat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Jaskier wants, Jaskier gets.

Jaskier is a slippery type, Geralt thinks. Like an eel, he escapes right when you think you have him locked down.   
  
For a while, he just can’t figure out what he feels for the guy. With most people, it’s easy, they tend to sort themselves neatly into two categories in Geralt’s eyes: cunts and okay people.    
  
Jaskier hasn’t done anything to hurt Geralt ( _ yet _ , Geralt’s mind adds) and he is always a whirlwind of emotions that tends to suck the people in his orbit right in. As gorgeous and in charge as Alizee is, around Jaskier she becomes a worried mother hen. Geralt himself could not resist caring for the man on several occasions.    
  
That brings him to the drug use. Jaskier is not an addict, but he uses casually and despite his irresponsibility, he has avoided a sad fate many would have succumbed to by this time. Ecstasy and cocaine are not exactly great for brain health, yet Jaskier seems unaffected.    
  
It’s by watching Jaskier with the people swarming around him, drawn to him like moths to a supernova, that Geralt realises the truth about the DJ.    
  
He is nice to everyone. He will kiss the girls (and the boys) and dance with everyone. Be the last one to leave the party. Be papped with a new girl every night while out on the town. Graciously accept gifts, praise and all sorts of attention… and then leave alone, on foot, his earphones in and his collar raised, to get a Happy Meal at 4 am and go home in a car that waits for him, an Uber or a night bus.    
  
The truth is, he has them all fooled. Everyone knows Jaskier. Everyone loves or hates Jaskier. But that’s a role he plays, and he’s stellar at that. He belongs to no one. He is known to no one. 

Geralt wonders if he is getting the spiel too, the persona, not the real guy.    
  
The truth hits him like an unseen opponent, with the uppercut of realisation, way too late in the game. It knocks the breath out of Geralt and leaves him reeling.    
  
It’s two years since they met, time during which Jaskier has woven himself into the fabric of Geralt’s life, coming over unannounced with whisky and raiding Geralt’s fridge for beer. Clinking his rings against the hard surfaces in Geralt’s kitchen, to a beat only he can hear. Always having his phone out and filming Geralt while training, sometimes following him into the showers and talking through Geralt undressing and stepping under the hot spray.    
  
It became even more apparent when Jaskier released a new song with a video. Normally, nothing weird to it, the man is a DJ, that’s what world famous DJs do - release music.    
  
Only, it was a super thirsty song. The kind people call in sick at work, stay at home and touch themselves to. Complete with hypnotic beat and moaning track. And the video? Well, Geralt nearly had a stroke when he saw it, one day while out on a grocery run.    
  
The video was obviously edited and had effects and colour filters out the wazoo, but it was footage of Geralt, either training or punching a boxing bag, closeups on thirsty details like a droplet of sweat disappearing below the hem of his tank top, between his pecs. His thigh muscles shifting as he shadow boxes or spars with his trainer. His naked form, lit from behind in a steam-filled shower. The video is, for lack of a better term, soft porn.    
  
And instead of getting mad at his friend for betraying his trust, a detail which wasn’t even on Geralt’s radar at the time, he stood in the middle of a mall, frozen in place with the realisation that his storm-in-a-piss-jar friend has the hots for him.    
  
It was hard to face that and Geralt didn’t know how to address it so he didn’t touch upon the topic and anyone asking him for a comment got a “hmm” and a shrug.    
  
But one thing Geralt can be honest with himself about: as annoying and exhausting he finds Jaskier, he misses not having him around. Silence is louder when Jaskier is not there, playing his utz-utz sample tracks or singing something irreverent in Geralt’s garden.    
  
He catches himself wondering what it would be to date the DJ. Oh, Yennefer would scorch the earth if he dared. And Alizee might actually put him over her knee and spank him live on Discord.    
  
Better let this whole thing blow over.    
  
What’s the point? Everyone who comes too close sees there’s nothing to him and leaves loudly slamming the door. Maybe Jaskier simply wanted images for his video and Geralt is just being self-absorbed in thinking there’s an ulterior motive behind the video. After all, Kanye has a song called “Fade” whose video consists of Teyana Taylor dancing and sweating in a gym. And Geralt knows people generally think his body is attractive, even if they do not care for him. Yeah, it must be that. Jaskier used his friend for some free footage. No deeper meaning to it. 

So he doesn’t change how he acts towards the DJ, ever patient and silently listening to Jaskier ranting. He stretches wires out for Jaskier to hang his feelings out to dry like laundry in the air.    
He sometimes has to talk Jaskier down from plans that could turn out badly.   
  
But he’s always there, and at some point he wonders if he perhaps replaced Jaskier’s teddy. With the exception, of course, that he’s not the thing Jaskier gathers in his arms before he falls asleep.    
  
Geralt would fight anyone who insists that realisation hurts him. Because it doesn’t. It totally doesn’t.    
  
***   
  
Jaskier started like Alizee, by thinking Geralt is an extraordinary human specimen, like their pet demigod or something.   
  
He knows his time with Geralt is limited. It always gets to a point where people, even those with the patience of saints, have enough of him and leave. That usually happens pretty soon.   
  
Except Geralt is still there. Geralt doesn’t say much or have insights into Jaskier’s world of problems, but he is there, a solid and reassuring presence, who always has a minute and a smile for him. 

Jaskier feels guilty for being so attracted to the man. His feelings seem like an imposition. Usually, he is the one playing a game and being elusive, acting like he loves everyone when he doesn’t trust anyone enough to let them in. But Geralt? Geralt has this energy like he doesn’t really want to be there but also doesn’t mind it.    
  
“But Jaskier, you never let anyone near,” he argues with himself. “You let them come close and then you let them down. Before they leave you. But Geralt isn’t like that. He gives no fucks who you are, what you earn and what you do. Which is why he will never ever look at you like a partner. You are a pest to him, a friend at most. Plus, he’s into women. Leave it.”    
  
And leave it, he does.    
  
Until the next time they end up together, on the roof of a club in Ibiza, in a spot they can see the whole island from.    
  
Jaskier went there for fresh air after a night of working hard, to stop his head from spinning. Normally, he’d pop two ecstasy pills and be good to go for another twelve hours, but he never takes anything when Geralt is around. Not because he’s ashamed, but he doesn’t want the drugs to tinge his time with Geralt and he doesn’t want to detach from the quiet moments with the fighter. Being around Geralt recharges him. 

Geralt followed him up there shortly to check on him. He did promise Alizee to keep an eye on her  _ enfant terrible _ . And he likes it when Jaskier is tired, like now, because the DJ becomes quieter, but no less colourful, and the stuff he says ends up making Geralt laugh until his abs hurt. And for some reason, Jaskier always smells great and comforting, like Geralt is sinking his nose in a basket of fresh peaches. No human should smell this good, especially at the end of thirty six hours of travel and work.    
  


Jaskier stops talking at some point, leaning back against Geralt and sighing. But this is not right because Geralt is behind him and he can’t see him. So Jaskier scoots back until he is sitting next to the other man.    
  
Geralt looks illuminated from within. To Jaskier, he was always unique and beautiful, but now that he knows the man more closely and can bask in his quiet reassuring presence, he feels as though his heart no longer belongs to him because it has gone to seek permanent shelter in the fighter’s arms. And it’s scary because Jaskier promised himself never to feel these feelings - he doesn’t need the vulnerability. And he’s never felt these feelings before. With Geralt though? He welcomes the uncertainty and the hope of maybe not being rejected with anger.    
  
“What’s wrong, little lark? You went quiet.” Geralt asks, tilting his head and fixing the younger man with his golden gaze. The fine lines at the outer corners of his eyes are more visible and the hint of a smile is fluttering across his lips.    
  
_ Little lark _ . No one calls him that. Jaskier feels a pleasant warmth spread through him, similar to the sensation he gets when he downs a generous glass of whisky. And just as intoxicating.    
  
“Nothing is wrong, actually everything is perfect. Here, now.”    
  
“Should we head for the hotel? You’ve been awake for over thirty-six hours, you need rest.” Geralt suggests.    
  
“No, Geralt. I’m not drunk and I’m not feverish from exhaustion. I just have a hard time with something.”    
  
There’s that head tilt again. Geralt studies Jaskier’s features as though looking for clues.    
  
“Hmmm?”   
  
“I…” Deep inhale. Exhale. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”    
  
There. It’s out. He managed not to stutter or say it quickly as one word. Why does it feel so stressful? Aren’t these things supposed to come more easily with age?    
  
Geralt smiles, and oh gods, does he look out-of-this-world beautiful when he smiles so widely and it reaches his eyes too.    
  
“That helps, a lot actually.” He says, two fingers tilting the DJ’s chin up. “Can I kiss you?”    
  
It’s quite helpful that his chin is supported because otherwise his jaw would be at their feet now, Jaskier briefly thinks.    
  
He’s the one who closes the distance between them while Geralt puts an arm around him and pulls him close.    
  
The kiss is passionate, but soft and considerate. They are both trying the feeling on before they dive in at the deep end and no longer want to stop.   
  
It feels like they kiss for hours, hands reaching to cradle and hold, their bodies turning towards each other and fitting together effortlessly.    
  
Geralt notices at some point that it’s almost morning and they have a plane to catch, so as much as he regrets having to let Jaskier go, he helps him up and they leave the club so they can catch their flight.   
  
“So, where do we go from here?” He asks, once they are settled in their comfortable first class seats. “Are we dating?”    
  
Jaskier pouts.   
  
“I don’t want to date. I want a boyfriend.”   
  
Geralt smiles and squeezes his hand. It’s going to be a super short flight home.   
  



	9. There is Always Time for Sweetness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They may be two grown men, but there's still room for a lot of firsts to be had.

They spend their first day as a new couple at Geralt’s house, passing a bottle of whisky back and forth between the two of them and cuddling on the garden swing while a light rain makes the garden come to life around them. Luckily, the little roof above the garden swing provides enough shelter and Geralt brought a blanket.    
  
“I wasn’t expecting you to say yes. I’m glad that you did, but I did not prepare for this scenario. I imagined you would reject me in a way that hurts less than usual.” Jaskier admits.    
  
“You get rejected?” Geralt asks.    
  
“Oh, a lot. Or maybe rejections stay with me more? Anyway. I didn’t think you’d be into guys.”    
  
“I’m not,” Geralt clarifies. “I actively dislike most people, regardless of gender and orientation. But not you. Even when you drive me crazy, I just want to hold you and tell you to wind down.”    
  
Jaskier snuggles closer, inhaling the other man’s alluring, but hard to define scent. 

“I want to do this right. I want to be honest and open, but I also want to feel like I belong to you. I don’t demand that we go public right away. But please don’t hide me.” Jaskier says softly, his voice considerably smaller than before.    
  
Geralt takes his hand between his two, lacing their fingers together.    
  
“Hide you? Never. But people don’t really give a hoot who I date. I’m an MMA fighter, not a movie star.”    
  
“Just wait,” Jaskier says, giggling. “Alizee has plans for you. If Van Damme could be in movies, you could get an Oscar.”    
  
“Van Damme was likable.” Geralt points out.    


Jaskier opens his mouth to say something, but then changes his mind momentarily. 

“You are extremely likable, Geralt.”    
  
“Hm. I know people look at me and see an interesting fuckpiece for their collection. But I’m not… likable.” 

“Well you’re not a fuckpiece to me. Do you know how many people have the patience to speak gently to me when I have a breakdown? None, besides you.” Jaskier reveals and sighs. 

“Either way. We are not going to hide. But we also won’t get papped,” Geralt says confidently, momentarily forgetting that Jaskier himself is a massive world star with a huge fan following.    
  
“I’ve never had a boyfriend before. How do I not ruin this?”    
  
“Just talk to me, Jaskier. Not all the time, obviously, but be yourself and don’t hide or lie to me. It’s all I ask. Most of the time you will get to do what you wanted either way, even if I am not thrilled by it. I know how to draw a line when things really matter. But other than that, I really don’t like saying no to you.”    
  
***   
  
Alizee catches on right away that something is changed.    
  
“You two! What are you up to?” She asks, catching them exchange an accomplice glance for the third time that day.    
  
“We’re not up to anything. Geralt is my boyfriend now,” Jaskier says casually while Alizee is downing a bottle of spring water.    
  
The spring water gets sprayed all over the conference table when the words sink in for the manager.    
  
“Alright, uh. Until I decide how I feel about this and how we’ll handle it from a publicity point of view, you have my blessing. Just, please, please, please don’t store nudes and sex tapes in any cloud drives.” 

Jaskier has the decency to blush, because he is the one who is careless with his media content. Geralt still uses an USB cable to transfer things from his phone to his computer. 

Also, what nudes? What sex tape? Nothing really went on between them besides a few kisses and falling asleep together in the room with the skylight at Geralt’s place.    
  
Plus, very few things can be hotter than the video Jaskier he made of Geralt training and showering. 

And Jaskier has thrown all his E pills into the fireplace.    
  
***   
  
Life doesn’t wait for the new lovebirds to sort everything out.    
  
They are thrown into the tornado of events when the party season takes off and Jaskier has to jet all over the world, mixing and hosting, appearing at award ceremonies, giving interviews and having his fingers in all the possible pies and then some, courtesy of Alizee’s hard work.    
  
One day Geralt leaves his home to go to a bigger gym, to meet with a new trainer.    
  
On the way there, he sees his boyfriend’s face plastered on the side of a building, at least a few tens of meters tall.   
  
The shy and excitable Jaskier is the very image of magnetism and control in this ad as he smizes at the camera wearing only a soft veil of highlighter on his skin and Cartier jewelry. It’s beautiful and regal and it makes Geralt’s heart swell with pride. He knows Jaskier is gorgeous, but he is all the happier everyone else sees it too.    
  
At the gym, it’s only two songs until one of his boyfriend’s remixes fills the sweaty space.    
  
Normally, he thinks, as he wraps his hands and gets ready for a spar with the new trainer, when he has a new relationship, the sex comes before the introductions. It’s usually a hazy mess of high adrenaline and testosterone after a fight or a workout and he feels like a slave to his physiology.    
  
Should he be worried that nothing happened with Jaskier yet? Nothing… definitive? What if… fuck. What if there’s something in Jaskier’s past preventing him from enjoying intimacy or just regular old cleaning the pipes type of sex?    
  
If he thinks hard, which he does and it shows in the two deep creases between his eyebrows, he’s never seen Jaskier with someone. Not long term. He’s dated celebrities for events, he partied with a lot of people… and the drama he caused was always other people suspecting him of having slept with their spouses when he in fact did not.    
  
Too lost in thoughts, Geralt doesn’t pay attention and he forgets to rein in his strength, punching the boxing bag off the hook. It also pops open like a cheek in the place his last punch landed, the heavy contents spilling all over the gym floor.    
  
Everyone around him goes quiet and stares, and Geralt feels embarrassed. He tries not to be That Guy.    
  
At the end of the week, he gets a very pleasant surprise, in the shape of his boyfriend returning home much earlier than expected.    
  
Geralt is soaking in a fragrant bath when he hears the front door open and close. Moments later, Jaskier pads over to him on bare feet, smiling from ear to ear as he sheds his clothes, his outer layers already discarded in the hallway.    
  


“Hello there, my hunky merman. Got any room in there for a dusty goat, fresh from the road?” he greets Geralt, not waiting for an answer and toeing off his underwear before stepping into the tub. 

***   


Geralt’s hands come up to support the lithe man who is currently crowding him in the tub - and to caress butter-soft skin before kneading the firm flesh of butt cheeks and backs of thighs.    
  
Jaskier holds on to the edges of the tub on either side of Geralt’s head and lets himself sit comfortably in the older man’s lap.    
  
They are skin to skin now, naked, wet and warm. Hands can finally explore, map and claim.    
  
Lips linger longer on lips before wandering to shoulders and pecs.    
  
Geralt encourages Jaskier to move above him while he grabs both of their dicks and strokes them. There’s heat, there’s friction but also slide; there’s Jaskier’s moans punctuated with Geralt’s low grunts.    
  
Jaskier rests his hands on Geralt’s chest, fingertips kneading at the firm muscle beneath the soft, now burning hot skin.    
  
“I’ll soil the water. This is all new to me.” Jaskier breathlessly confesses.    
  
“We’ll get clean after. Now relax and give in.” Geralt says, his voice impossibly low.    
  
It’s not much, looked at cynically from outside. But to them, it’s huge.    
  
Jaskier lets someone close for the first time in years. Geralt gives in to the part of him who just wants to give love and care.  It doesn’t take Jaskier long to come, Geralt following shortly after. They sit coiled around each other, panting, glowing, taking each other in, every detail of their pleasure written on their faces and in their bodies - information to use later, when they’ll want to draw more pleasure forth from each other.    
  
Jaskier slumps against Geralt and lets him drain the tub around them, using the shower head to wash them both clean. It feels so good to have the older man take care of things with a pleased little hum while he basks in his boneless state.    
  
Geralt just lifts him out of the tub like he weighs nothing, setting him gently down on his feet and toweling him dry.    
  
They brush their teeth side by side before Geralt takes his younger lover by the hand and leads him to bed.    
  
The sheets are cool and fragrant, with the crispness of freshly washed fabric. The DJ snuggles against the fighter’s side, a massive bicep for a neck pillow, and lets sleep take over him.    
  
Geralt lies awake for longer, watching the man in his arms and feeling overcome with tenderness. He still cannot believe how easy it is all being, and part of him expects someone to jump out and tell him it was all a bad joke. But his heart tells him the pleasant weight of Jaskier sleeping on him is the reality and he’d best get used to it fast. 


	10. The Light in the Fridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not all milk and honey in Jaskier's new relationship with the mysterious and laconic fighter. The long past of trauma and abuse has the potential to chase everyone away. Well. Almost everyone.

  
People are sort of used to Jaskier and Geralt being a package deal. They are used to seeing Jaskier in the VIP booth at Geralt’s fights or featuring in making-of videos of Geralt’s photoshoots. They all know that Jaskier gets driven to events by Geralt in his big black Audi. It’s become common knowledge that the DJ leaves together with Geralt.    
  
They both have fans. Jaskier is used to the crazy and sometimes boundary-overstepping crowd of followers, but for Geralt it’s a new headache. No one used to give a fuck about him before, but since he earned the regrettable but admittedly catchy nickname of Butcher of Blaviken, being pale and covered in scars is suddenly hot. Teenagers write fanfiction about him online and come to support him at his fights. Men come to shake his hand and ask for pictures and autographs. Women throw themselves at him and proposition him - something which Jaskier finds extremely flattering because not only does he think everyone should see how beautiful and extraordinarily hot his boyfriend is, but it also makes him feel like a billionaire for having bagged himself the best man out there. If the others even knew all of Geralt’s truth, how gentle and patient he can be with the ones he loves, then they would all love him and despair, wishing it was them getting to lie down next to him at night.    


Jaskier has two places in Copenhagen, one penthouse in the city and a property with land and a beautiful and comfortable house on it. He hasn’t used the house much until now, but since he knows Geralt loves seeing a garden when he wakes up, he chose to stay there every time they were in the city, even though that meant more time on the road to the venue he was performing at.    
  
They get papped a lot, but everyone knows Geralt and Jaskier have been a two for one deal for a while, and paired with Geralt’s dislike of PDA plus Jaskier cozying up to everyone indiscriminately, they slip by undisturbed.    
  
Not to mention the tabloids have a knack for making their own stories about celebrities, depending on what they think will sell their rags: some couples could be fucking in the street in broad daylight and never be more than “gal pals” or “roommates” while others get called a couple just for starring in the same project together.    
  
Jaskier is also very professional when he’s working and he gets so absorbed by what he is doing, he sometimes forgets to eat or sleep. Giving the paps some juicy pics to stay relevant to the masses is farthest from his mind.    
  
To the outside world, they are either best friends or an unlikely couple - at any rate, they get no headaches from the outside world which makes things very easy - much to Geralt’s approval.    
  
This favourable situation gives them time to be there for each other and create intimacy in ways neither of them had the luxury to do with previous partners. 

Geralt becomes convinced the man he consciously entered a partnership with is not quite, or rather, not just human. In some light settings, from certain angles, his boyfriend looks ethereal and airbrushed like a horny Michelangelo slaved away ceaselessly to free him from a block of marble and the gods blew life into him. And then Jaskier will get milk and cereal on his Gucci track jacket and Geralt is convinced he does these things to better blend in as a human. 

One night, after Jaskier’s set ends and the club switches to a regular playlist so people can spend more money at the bar and talk, Geralt enters the DJ’s booth to tell Jaskier they can go home, because he knows his boyfriend is most likely tired after six hours of intense work.    
  
But when he lays eyes on the DJ, he sees that glazed look he’s grown to recognise by now. Caused not by drugs, but by his boyfriend still in the energy of the party. He always becomes lost in the music he is playing and reshaping - it’s his way of accessing the state of Flow, which Geralt knows all too well from his training and from tending to his garden.    
He cannot hold back and, once he locks the door behind him, his caution dissolves away.    
  
Jaskier again looks not of this world in the colourful beams of the party lights installation, his hair wild and slightly curlier because of the glitter product he sprayed in it not long ago, his lips parted because he is breathing through his mouth now, the shallow breath of heightened excitement.   
  
Geralt closes the distance between them and wraps his boyfriend in his arms, pulling him close and tightly. His kiss is devouring and needy, but he remembers to be considerate. Jaskier welcomes him with a surprised mewl that turns into a growl when Geralt’s lips leave his in favour of wandering down his neck. He feels his entire body relax and give in to Geralt, in a way he’s never felt safe enough to do with anyone else before.    
  
His white t-shirt is in the way and Geralt is having none of that, pulling it up and holding it bunched in one hand as he kisses his way down Jaskier’s chest and abs.    
  
Jaskier feels oddly self-conscious about his fuzzy chest, he likes it well enough because he lives with it every day, but what if the much more polished and surreally beautiful martial artist feels turned off? A previous girlfriend shared with him her belief that hairy people had something bestial about them and were not as clean as those who took the time to remove their body hair. 

But his chest hair could not be further from Geralt’s mind, because it in no way stops him from taking his time sucking and worrying at Jaskier’s nipples until they harden almost painfully in the cool air of the room. Geralt has time and an interest in squeezing and tweaking at the little nubs until his musician boyfriend is reduced to nonverbal sounds and small, uncontrolled moans.    
  
The DJ looks for something to steady himself on, since it became clear to him that Geralt has plans for him right now.   
  
Strong hands start to pull down the tie dye joggers he is wearing before Geralt comes back up to kiss him again and ask in a low voice:    


“May I?”   
  
“Oh gods yes, you know I’m yours, anything!” Jaskier hears himself pant out and while it’s not as sultry and in charge as he would want it to be, his answer is what gets him what he so badly wants, and much sooner than he expected it, too. So, he counts that as an absolute win and watches Geralt slip his trousers and his underwear down past his knees.    
  
There’s fumbling on Geralt’s part, but no hesitation as he takes the younger man’s cock into his mouth, getting used to the feel of it and starting to work it with his lips and tongue.    
  
“Fuck, yes that’s it… Christ,” Jaskier presses out when Geralt finds that one spot that he enjoys feeling the most. He tries not to look down too much because the sight of Geralt’s beautiful lips around his cock is too much and he fears he might blow his load before it all really begins.    
  
But Geralt is a patient man and one who also likes a challenge and he sets off to see how fast he can have Jaskier’s knees turn to water and the younger man coming. Even though he is not a seasoned expert, he knows what he likes and he tests that knowledge on his boyfriend, watching his reactions closely. His hands are not idle during this time at all, either coming to stroke that which he cannot swallow or resting on soft buttcheeks, kneading the muscle beneath and pushing Jaskier deeper into his mouth. 

It doesn’t take long, but Jaskier doesn’t have the mind right now to worry about form as his gorgeous boyfriend tries to suck his soul out through his dick. He spills down Geralt’s throat, cursing under his breath and seeking purchase on the bigger man’s shoulders as he feels the world around him fade away and seemingly tilt and spin around them at great speed.    
  
It ends up being a bit of a messy affair, as Geralt can’t have foreseen how to prevent any spills.

But he looks up at Jaskier and swallows what he can, wiping the rest off with a Kleenex from his pocket before carefully rearranging his boyfriend’s underwear and joggers.    
  
“I absolutely need to lie down now.” Jaskier says, slipping his hand into Geralt’s. “I’m going to lay you down on my bed and kiss every single square centimeter of your body.” 

It’s a miracle how Geralt can drive with the mutiny in his tight jeans. 

****   
  
Geralt may have achieved great, almost superhuman feats of fitness and martial arts mastery due to his ability to control his body’s signals perfectly, but all those decades of perfect repression and suppression have their less fun side-effects, as Jaskier soon discovers.    
  
His boyfriend is a great big whole meal of delicious hunking man. And he tries to be a good partner and yes, he manages that just fine - but to the DJ, Geralt is a lot like the light in the fridge. Always on when you need him, not there when no one is looking.    
  
And that stems from his violent and unforgiving, very Spartan upbringing. Jaskier cannot even begin to imagine what it would have been like to grow up in a school like a penitentiary from such a young age. To grow up without affection, and care, and touch. To not have a mother or a father coming to hold you when you wake up screaming from a nightmare. To be starved and beaten and pushed in every way possible.    
  
So, of course Geralt is a black hole of affection. He wants to. His intentions are there. He asks the right questions and for permission every time. But when it comes to receiving something good, Jaskier feels like his boyfriend has resigned himself to not being taken into account.   
  
Talking is also difficult sometimes.    
  
So Jaskier picks a good, peaceful moment. With the risk of ruining the evening and missing out on a nice restaurant date, he goes to find Geralt on the back deck of their rental villa in Ibiza.    
  
He brings two glasses of whisky along, to bend the odds a bit in his favour.    
  
Of course Geralt catches on to his boyfriend sitting on some big topics, so he cuts right to the chase. While also attacking the whisky.    
  
“I was thinking the other day how well we get along. And how thoughtful and nice you are with me.” Jaskier starts.   
  
“But there’s a ‘but’.” Geralt says, wincing. “There’s always a but, and then they leave.”    
  
Jaskier breathes. He has a bigger chunk of work cut out for him than he first thought.    
  
“It’s not what you think. I was going to ask. Since I’m happy and I feel amazing being in a relationship… Are you getting everything you need? Can you talk about this with me? Or try?”    
  
Geralt sinks a bit lower in his seat, crossing his arms. 

“I can try. It’s just…” He starts, breathing in deeply. “I’m at a certain age. Didn’t have a proper start. Don’t know how to be attractive or romantic. All I know is doing what I’m asked. I’m still surprised anyone wants to fuck me.” 

“Babe…” Jaskier struggles to hold back tears. “You may not be loud and showy about your affection, but I do feel loved. And I love that you are honest and no bullshit, do you have any idea how few people find it in them to extend me that courtesy? I’ve kept everyone at a distance for years because I’d watch them and decide they are not worth being vulnerable for. Everyone thinks I’m a huge slut because I’m always seen leaving the club with models. When in fact I pay for their Uber and then go home. Alone. I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t feel you love me for real.”    
  
There’s a pause, and Geralt swirls the amber liquid in his glass, watching it in fascination.    
  
“I do love you, “ he says simply. “I’m afraid I cannot love you the way you prefer to be loved. I can’t do loud and colourful.”    
  
“Thankfully, not everyone needs to be the exact same. We can be like Jonathan and Antoni from Queer Eye.” Jaskier offers, but at the same time feels like this is still not getting to the heart of the matter.

Because there is something else…    
  
The DJ gets up gracefully and makes his way to where Geralt is seated, taking the whisky glass from the martial artist’s hand and setting it on the table at a safe distance. He then straddles his boyfriend’s globally thirsted-after thighs, sitting on Geralt’s lap with all his weight.    
  
His arms come up to rest on Geralt’s shoulders.    
  
“Look at me, my love.”    
  
Jaskier waits until Geralt looks up to meet his gaze. The DJ is so tempted to softly ghost his fingertips across Geralt’s perfect features before initiating a kiss. But he chooses to postpone his indulgence and instead moves forward into the zone where Geralt’s comfort ends. If he doesn’t bring these things up, they will never come up and Geralt will never address them.    
  
“What do you desire from our relationship? How can I make you happiest?” Jaskier asks.    
  
“All I want is to know you safe and happy. To see you feel loved and spill your many gifts onto the world.”   
  
“That’s more than I dare to wish for myself, some days. But I mean… Sexually.” Jaskier speaks softly, cautiously. “What can I give you? What turns you on and gets you off?”    
  
Geralt flinches imperceptibly before squaring his shoulders, the way he usually does when he steps into the ring for a fight.    
  
“I’m almost forty and I don’t know what there is. Women are all too happy to use me as a sex toy and make me follow their directions. But if you ask me what I like? I love the closeness sex brings and I want to have that with you. But… I don’t want to be gross.”   
  
Jaskier realises how hard it is for his boyfriend to be vulnerable and to discuss these topics openly. Geralt, he figures out, is not used to being the focus of attention. Even when he wins. His moments of fame are attributed to his manager, his sponsors - always others, with marginal contributions compared to his.    
  
“Oh,” Jaskier replies, relief written on his face. This is something easily solved. “I think I know what you mean. But just to be sure… what would you say if I asked you to fuck me?”   
  
“I’d do my very best to show you a good time. It’s a bit daunting because I haven’t been with men before, but I want to watch you come apart and know that I am the reason for it.”    
  
Jaskier nods in satisfaction. That sounds particularly good for him. But -

“What if I wanted to fuck you?”   
  
Geralt breathes deeply and looks away.    
  
“I don’t know if that…would be enjoyable for you.”   
  
Jaskier tries to work out what his boyfriend is so worried about. He has a hunch, but he needs to be sure. The last thing he wants is to make Geralt feel self-conscious and worry even more.    
  
“I have come to think of you as a part of myself, Geralt. Nothing about you is a turn-off for me. As for the enjoyable aspect… the good part is we can practice. But surely you’ve had anal se with women before. It’s not that different.”    
  
Geralt scrunches his features briefly at the memories.    
  
“It’s also not my favourite thing to do. The butt is not made for sex. Accidents happen. I always insisted on wearing a condom. I don’t know how others do it. Maybe, maybe there’s a good way to get clean? I wouldn’t even know where to look and what to look for.”    
  
Jaskier feels like the weight of the world is being taken off his shoulders.    
  
“I’m sure I can dig that up! I’m not experienced myself, at buttsex I mean, but I am experienced at research. We can make it a couple thing to get educated.”   
  
Geralt sighs in relief and looks up, feeling more reassured.    
  
“I thought I’m too old for this stuff. That I should have known what there is to know about the topic by now and if not, I should stay in my lane.”  “Bullshit. Enjoying sex is not just for teenagers.” Jaskier says. “I can’t wait. There’s so much I want to make you feel.”    
  
Their evening ends with the two of them snuggled together in a loveseat sofa, in front of the TV, watching a sex ed channel run by a gay porn performer who explains in detail how to get clean as a whistle at both ends. Jaskier orders the needed accessories from his phone, as they watch, and is already fantasizing of the sight of Geralt writhing and moaning beneath him as the fighter takes him in for the first time. It’s going to be glorious and Jaskier is sure of it.    
  
For now he only needs to deal with a sleeping Geralt, who fell asleep in the duvet, with his head on the DJ’s shoulder and still holding his left hand.   



	11. What the Moon Sees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some dreamlike first time smut...

Jaskier’s heart breaks for Geralt the first night he can’t sleep next to the fighter. Usually they fall between the sheets together, but at some point Geralt leaves to go and sleep alone. He claims it’s because he has to wake up early. But in reality, as Jaskier discovers, it’s because he has the most tortured sleep. Writhing around, shaking and trembling, whining like a poor abused animal with nowhere to escape. Jaskier feels painfully powerless, and it weighs on him all the more as he realises this is Geralt’s normal.    
  
Geralt was very laconic with the details of his upbringing, but there are many small tells in his waking actions and movements.He is a lethal work of art, but one that was trained and quite literally beaten into shape, like hot metal is hammered until the swordsmith gets a weapon at the end.    
  
Jaskier wishes so desperately to help. But how could he? He is a pampered house pet, who’s never known violence and abuse. 

He also feels, deep down, that he and Geralt should have new rules if they are to make this work. He loves Geralt and he knows Geralt loves him, even though he has his own way of showing it. It’s alright if they never get to the point where they feel comfortable enough to fuck.    
  
The DJ can’t lie to himself. It’s all he’s been thinking of since dating Geralt became a possibility.    
  
Geralt’s trauma rears its ugly head in the worst ways, at the worst times. He will sooner endure pain and discomfort than risk being the reason they stop doing something. He never complains. He is shit at saying no.    


Time and gentle reassurance will do the trick, eventually. If nothing external intervenes and separates them.    
  
Then, he starts noticing it.    
  
The melting.    
  
Geralt starts kissing him when he’s at the stove, cooking breakfast. Starts joining him in the shower and putting his hands on him all over. ALL over.    
  
One day, a delivery from a vaguely named company arrives and Geralt signs for it.    
  
Jaskier is at his computer, mixing some beats when he sees Geralt walk past him with the showerhead modifiers.    
  
Their eyes meet and Geralt, instead of booking it right out of there, winks, smiles and says, “if you want to work in construction, you have to wear a hardhat.”

***   
  
It’s their one year anniversary, but they spend it on the road, working. Jaskier is hosting a worldwide trance event, with every DJ worth their salt having a set there. Jaskier is the main attraction and he’s recently dropped a super horny single track that went to #1 within hours. Everyone is sharing it, liking it, commenting, making memes.    
  
Geralt is there for support and because Alizee ordered him to travel with his boyfriend for a bit and disconnect from work after he did three ads back to back, for which he had to train intensively. 

Jaskier is in his element, in the colourfully lit booth overlooking the whole crowd. His skin glows and while he is dressed in normal clothes, a white t-shirt with some design on the front, blue jeans and Jordans, he also put glitter in his hair, rubbed unicorn paste on his whole body and wore his many bling rings. 

He catches Geralt’s eye across the people coming and going on the level above the dancefloor and sees that his boyfriend is all heart-eyes, watching him with a very pleased smile and looking very proud.    
  
Geralt whisks him to their island top villa, which is dark for the moment, but Geralt hits the mood lights before he guides Jaskier inside and immediately pins him to the wall.    
  
The DJ is happy for the kind of heated attention he is getting, but he needs to make sure it’s not something Geralt does because he feels he has to. He always fears that Geralt is trying to accommodate him above comfort and personal boundaries. 

“Babe, I’m fine. We don’t have to do anything. We could go out on the terrace and watch the view. You could hold me while we put this bottle of vodka to rest.”    
  
“I want to fuck.” Geralt’s reply comes between two nips at the tender skin on Jaskier’s neck.

“Are you sure?!” Jaskier’s mind stops with the imagined sound of a record scratch. Again. “We don’t have to.”    
  
“I want-” Geralt presses on, bundling the front of Jaskier’s t-shirt in his fist and lifting it high enough that he can close his lips around a nipple and suck hard, soothing with his tongue.    
  
“Anything. Anything you want, it’s yours.” Jaskier melts in Geralt’s grip. “Lube?” He asks.   
  
“Here.” Geralt extracts a small bottle from his trouser pocket.    
  
The fucker premeditated this. He’s had the lube on him in the club all evening.    
  
All the better.    
  
“Geralt? Tell me exactly what you want to happen. Please.” Jaskier is overwhelmed with all the desire he cast aside in the past months and his words spill out over staccato breaths.    
  
The fighter lingers on his lips some more, kissing him with the methodical slowness Jaskier knows by now is his boyfriend’s brand. Geralt hasn’t kissed many people - so when the opportunity presents itself to him, he likes to make the most of it.    
  


“Fuck. Me.” Geralt says. His voice is strained and Jaskier knows not to push more.   
  
So he just kisses Geralt instead. Long, slow, maddening. Like there’s nothing else in the world.    
  
This is all Jaskier has wanted. And the only man he’s wanted it with.    
  
He starts undressing Geralt, which is not at all a complicated feat since the man is not wearing much. Black button down shirt, off. Gucci belt, untied. Black Tom Ford trousers, open and off. Socks too.    
  
Jaskier spends even less time undressing himself - he’s out of his clothes in seconds, and glitter sheds everywhere, but just as much of it still clings to his skin and hair. He can’t help it. He feels beautiful and radiant. Special enough and worthy of a man like Geralt.    
  
“Bedroom. That way,” Jaskier points to the dark corner on their right.    
  
“Deck.” Geralt growls, and it’s non-negotiable, or it sounds like it because Jaskier is happy to let him lead the way outside, to the luxurious deck with soft but not too soft chaise longue toppers and a breathtaking view of the whole island and the dark night skies with all the stars.    
  
Perhaps not the most comfortable setting for a first time, but definitely a romantic one.    
  
They land on the nearest long chair, facing the harbour down below, and Jaskier wastes no time. He guides Geralt onto his back, face up towards the stars as he maps a constellation of kisses all over the fighter’s neck, chest and abs, pausing to lick and suck at his nipples until he is repaid with pleading sounds he never thought he’d hear from his repressed and shy boyfriend. 

So Geralt really loves having his nips played with- a valuable bit of intel Jaskier files away for later, while moving lower and wrapping his lips around his boyfriend’s now engorged and leaking cock. Geralt is big, but not monstrously so. It’s the most beautiful, most mouthwatering cock Jaskier has seen - and the only one he’s wanted to feel in every way possible.    
  
Geralt is so responsive too. He is massively and chronically affection- and touch-starved, having a lifetime of neglect and abuse to make up for, which has the unexpected side effect of having left him particularly sensitive all over.    
  
Which is what makes him writhe and arch like an eel caught in a fisherman’s hook while Jaskier is sucking him like both their lives depend on it. The DJ has an arm over Geralt’s hips and the free one is between Geralt’s legs, caressing the tender skin on the inner thighs and using light fingertips to get his anus and perineum used to the new touches.    
  
Jaskier stops only for as long as it takes to uncap the bottle and squirt out a generous amount which he spreads between Geralt’s cheeks and onto his own fingers.    
  
His goal is to get four fingers fitting comfortably inside Geralt, but he doesn’t get to four before Geralt, at the end of a cascade of curses and breathless moans, all but begs him to hurry.   
  
“Please, Jaskier. I need you now.” He presses out, propping himself up on his elbows and watching his boyfriend over the hills and plains of his chest and abs. His cock is still rock hard, throbbing and leaking a clear trail of fluid onto his belly.    
  
Jaskier removes his fingers and applies lube to his cock, lining himself up and pushing in as slowly as he can.    
  
Geralt’s body only tightens for a brief moment before he can push further in. The DJ lets out a supremely aroused groan at the feeling of the tight channel stretching and accommodating him, letting him in easily before locking his cock in with a mighty grip.    
  
He needs a moment, and so does Geralt, who crosses his ankles behind Jaskier and relaxes back onto the thin topper beneath him.   
  
“God, Jask. So fucking good.” Geralt manages.    
  
“You’re so beautiful… and you feel so good. I am ruined for anyone else,” Jaskier whispers, resting his forehead on Geralt’s before burrowing his face in the fighter’s hair and sucking at a soft patch of skin on the unguarded neck.    
  
He knows that will leave a mark. So he leaves another, and another, lower to his chest and between his pecs.    
  
He sets a slow, agonizing pace to his motions, watching greedily as Geralt gives himself over to him, body going slack and pliant, wanting to take every drop of pleasure that is being offered.    


Jaskier wants to touch Geralt all over, but he needs to also hold himself up, so he decides to change their position and his feet find purchase on the deck, his hands going to Geralt’s glutes and digging in.    
  
“Hold on to me,” He says, lowering himself to the fabric covered surface. “Ride me. I want to see you, all of you.”    
  
Geralt lets out a small sound, like a playful groan, surprised at the change in position. And at the fact that Jaskier shifted them without his cock leaving Geralt’s body. But he immediately takes on his new role and rests his palms on Jaskier’s chest, kneading at the hair and the muscle underneath. Pinching at the nipples and running his thumbs across them before his feet find a good grip on the deck and he moans at how much deeper Jaskier’s cock enters him like this. The feeling is new and overwhelming, but so is the need to move. So Geralt moves, first rocking his hips into Jaskier’s, creating an undulating motion that doesn’t change the depth of penetration, just the angle, and which has both men crying out in pleasure.    
  
Jaskier rests his hands briefly on Geralt’s hips, to offer extra support, and when Geralt starts to move, the DJ’s hands roam his strong arms and his flexing thighs.    
  
Geralt lifts himself off Jaskier but only enough so they are not flush against each other and so he can start a bouncing motion.    
  
Jaskier arches his back and curses loudly at the feel of Geralt’s tight channel squeezing him rhythmically and begins an upward thrusting rhythm of his own, meeting Geralt halfway on the downward stroke.    
  
“You’re so… ahhh, so fucking gorgeous, Geralt,” Jaskier whispers, looking at his lover above him, hair flowing free in the night breeze, skin painted a cool blue by the moonlight, his muscle outlines having become more pronounced in the dim light that casts long shadows. “You’ll be the death of me.”   
  
“No dying,” Geralt quips. “You need to fuck me much more than this time.”

But there is no malice or selfishness in his words and he reaches a hand with spread out fingers, for Jaskier to lace his own fingers with.    
  
When he leans forward, to kiss Jaskier, Geralt lets out a surprised moan and the DJ fears he may pass out from how Geralt’s body tightens and squeezes down around him. His hands need to feel more, so he runs them down Geralt’s back, resting them on Geralt’s ass and kneading the muscles there.    
  
“Harder, Geralt. Use me, let me watch you come on my cock.” Jaskier whispers, bringing his hands up to run his fingers through Geralt’s soft, long tresses. “Please.”   
  
Geralt effortlessly changes the angle again, leaning backwards until his hands rest on his lover’s thighs. Now he can bounce more easily and Jaskier’s cock drags across his prostate with every inward and outward thrust. He lets out a defeated growl at how much every sensation amplified. And how close it brings him.    
  
Jaskier watches his boyfriend move on top of him. Never has Geralt looked more like a god than now, bathed in moonlight, hair moving freely, rapt expression on his face. Geralt’s lower lip is sucked in, held back by his teeth, and his brows are furrowed in concentration. His cock is bouncing along with him, huge and hard and heavy with trapped blood, dripping on its owner’s lower belly and down its own length.   
  
Jaskier can’t remain that passive any longer and he reaches for the lube, squirting a generous amount in one of his hands, which he then wraps around Geralt’s cock, squeezing down.    
  
“Yes, fuck… that’s it… fuck… I’m-” Geralt gets out, but is interrupted by a low growl, and another, louder one, follower by a louder one still. His breathing is laboured and loud and he comes with spectacular force, streaks of white landing in Jaskier’s chest hair and the rest running down his cock and Jaskier’s ring-heavy fingers, which are still stroking Geralt’s cock.   
  
Jaskier follows him, right into his own release, pulsing inside Geralt and feeling like he’s never come this much or this hard, prompted by the way Geralt’s eyes flutter closed and how the fighter licks his lips, moaning softly and the shadow of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.    
  
“That… was amazing. I want more.” Geralt says, taking a deep breath and leaning forward to briefly rest on Jaskier’s front. “I was such an idiot to be scared.”    
  
“You were not an idiot, we waited because I love you and I want you to feel comfortable,” Jaskier says, caressing the bigger man’s shoulders and arms, pulling him close for a kiss. He feels himself slipping free and the loss of that heavenly, snug heat fills him with sadness for a few moments.    
  
Geralt actually hisses like an upset cat at feeling empty again and Jaskier has to sit up and wrap his arms around his boyfriend, distracting him with soft kisses to his eyelids, cheeks, tip of the nose and lips. They can’t always be joined like this, but they can go at it every time they have the time and the setting for it. 

“Now I feel confident enough,” Geralt says and looks Jaskier in the eye, hoping he’ll know what he means. He caresses the DJ’s collarbone, then further down his arm, his hand coming away with glitter particles. “I love you so much.”   
  
Jaskier feels his own cock start to stir at the mere promise of Geralt finally fucking him. He never craved anything else this much, nor did he do it for such selfish reasons. But there is no man and no woman on this Earth he’d give this much of himself to and having Geralt love him feels like the heavens made someone especially for him to love. 


End file.
